| Subject: Prologue |
Author:
Kate
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Date Posted: 19:59:16 03/29/01 Thu
In reply to:
by Kate
's message, "Things My Mother Taught Me" on 19:49:51 03/29/01 Thu
Things My Mother Taught Me
by Kate
Something worse can always happen.
Quiet.
Far away, at the bottom of the cliff where the ocean met rock, the sound of the sea droned on and on through the dark. The only sounds were vague splashes, an occasional voice of a very early morning fisherman hailing a fellow neighbor, the scratch of a small fishing boat against rough, lichen-coated rocks. The sky was a dark gray color. It would be fine once the sun rose, but right now, there was no sign of warmth. There was only a lessening of darkness as night ebbed.
Far up the rocky surface of the cliff, hotels and houses clung to the earth. It was late spring, so the rocks were studded with green growing things; the soil was very rich here because of Mount Vesuvius. Now, of course, the hotels and houses and lemon trees were hidden; from the shore, all one could see was a looming mass towering above the Mediterranean and the rocks that turned gold during the day were only an indistinct uncertain black. Intermittent lights dotted the mountainside, but they were so few that from the shore they looked like misdirected fireflies.
Some of the lights belonged to the Hotel Lucia. They had been left lit on the patio in case sleepless guests came out of their rooms to roam or get a book from the catch-all bookcase near the reception area. Every guest room opened onto the patio, which during the day was light and sunny and filled with cheerful people. Now, though, it was quiet, and the breeze -- which never quite stopped here -- ruffled the budding leaves of the lemon trees and the bulb flowers Nikita planted.
Something slunk across the gray stones, stealthily sneaking around the shadows of plants and empty patio furniture. It passed quickly around a circle of light; a cat, with a not unsubstantial rat dangling from its mouth. The cat cocked its head, listening for something, waiting ... then it changed course and headed toward an open window. The cat lay the dead rat in a flower bed -- no doubt to save for later -- and sprung onto the window sill. Then silently it leapt down into the laundry room, through the door opposite and trotted through the inner courtyard.
Here, all the doors were closed against the chill of the night air but a few windows had been left open. The cat stopped again, listening, then crouched and leapt with the accuracy of a trapeze artist onto the ledge of a window.
She lay below him, sprawled across the bed on her back, one foot sticking out from the blanket. She didn't move, but something passed over her face, and she let out a little murmuring protest. Her forehead wrinkled in a frown and one hand moved across the pillow, searching for something.
The cat cocked its head, considering. Then it squeezed its narrow body through the window opening and perched on the wide footboard of the bed, waiting.
***************
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